Changing The Cycle
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: It always ends the same way. At three A.M. with her half-way out of the door and him regretting what he said and telling her he loves her because he doesn't want her to close that door. A never-ending cycle. They're both tired. Tired of fighting, crying and threatening. Tired of going in circles. It has to end. They have to change the cycle.


They've been fighting again.

That's all they do is _fightfightfight. _

She pretends to hate him but if you looked into her eyes, you'd see that there isn't any hate to be found. Because no matter how hard she tries, his eyes draw her back in. The warm pools of brown that remind her of an endless stream of chocolate - and she's not just saying that because she loves chocolate, even though she does, his really are the color of chocolate. When they fight, it's all nasty words and viscious blows to their egos. There's no real meaning to it. They fight because they feel like they have too. It's become their _thing _and if they don't fight, then they'd seem boring.

They aren't boring.

Sometimes it seemed as if he was the meaner one. Pushing her until she broke. Pushing her until she was walking out of the door. Pushing her until the tears stream out of her eyes in hot salty floods, soaking her skin and dripping onto her shirt.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. _

It's 3 A.M. when they have these nasty fights. Each one worse than the last but they can't help it. It's like the slightest little thing sets them off, like a bomb.

**Boom! Boom! Boom! **

He pushes her, she shoves back. He breaks her. She's on the verge of goodbye before he ever says anything to stop her. It always comes down to one of them about to walk out of the door, usually her before anything is said that isn't mean or unnecessarily viscious. They can't help but wonder if the endless of cycle of _fightfightfight _and _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou _can ever be broken. If it can just be an endless cycle of _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou _and things be okay.

"Why do we do this?" It's not his usual sudden exclamation of love that makes her stop but rather his curious inquisition that shocks her to the point of dropping her bag.

"What?" Her leather bag hits the floor with a thump, drowned out by the sound of her voice.

"Why do we push each other? Break each other like this? Go in endless cycles of viscious arguments and nasty insults that neither of us means? Why does it have to come down to that door opening and one of us threatening to walk out?" His voice rises as he storms over and shuts the door.

"Because-?"

"Because is not an answer, Sam." His voice is low, husky and slightly raw. It's different. Sexy.

"Because if we didn't fight then we'd probably be boring." She snaps at him, her voice betraying the anger she was trying to convey.

That's not true. They both know it.

They don't fight because they won't want to seem boring. They fight because that's all they've ever known how to do. They fight because if they didn't, they wouldn't quite know how to deal. It's habit. It's not something they want to do it. They just do it because it's all they've ever done.

"You know that's not why, _Samantha._" He dares using her full name just to get another rise out of her.

"Then what is it, _Fredward?_" Sam sneers at him, her blue eyes icy and challenging - she's not one to back down from a fight, especially with him. "Why do we fight like this? Why does it always end up with me threatening to leave before it ends?"

"Because we're afraid." Freddie is glowering at her - it's times like these, when he looks menacing that she remembers that she doesn't have the height advantage anymore. "We hid behind our fights when we were younger, Sam. We're doing the same thing now. We fight because we're afraid that maybe if we love each other too much, then we're weak. You're afraid that if you love me, then you won't be tough, rebellious Sam anymore."

"Well isn't that what happens?" Sam spreads her hands in a questioning gesture. "Don't I go all soft and mushy? I don't want to be all soft and mushy, Freddie. I'm not that person."

"Sam, don't you get it?" Freddie yells in frustration, "Sam, I'm not asking you to be that soft, mushy person. I'm asking you to be the same Sam I fell in love with. I'm asking you to be my best friend. My strong, tough, abusive best friend. I'm not asking you to change. Whatever we have doesn't have to change who you are, Sam. It hasn't yet."

"You mean you don't want me to change?" Sam asks him shyly, the edges of a smile tugging at her lips.

"No." Freddie shakes his head with an amused laugh. "Is that what you thought? That we had to fight because if we didn't, you might change? That I might want you to change? Sam, if you were any different, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"What do you mean?" Sam's confusion amuses him.

"I mean, that if you were any different, I wouldn't have fallen in love with you." Freddie shrugs, as if she should have known this already. "You're my best friend, Sam Puckett. And I don't want you to ever change."

"So..."

His arms wrap around her, hands tangling in her knotted blonde curls. It's only after he's pressed several kisses into her hair, does he bother to speak again. "I love you, Sam. I want us to stop fighting because we're afraid."

"Then what are we supposed to be fight about?" Sam pulls away to stare up at him, ignoring his hands still in her hair. "Whatever normal couples fight about? Freddie we're not normal."

"I know. Our fights are never going to be normal. I just don't want you to fight with me because you feel like you have too." Freddie can feel her relaxing, even with his hands in her hair. Her eyes are softer, less of an icy blue now. She's starting to slump against him in exhaustion because this fight has taken more out of both of them than any of their previous fights. "When we fight, I want it to be because we disagree on something. Not because we're afraid. We're not twelve anymore, Sam."

"Okay."

"Okay then." Freddie doesn't hesitate to press his lips to hers in a quick, reassuring kiss. "Ready to go to bed? It's been a long day."

"Yeah." Sam nods, averting her eyes to the floor as she pulls away to close and lock the door. The worn caramel colored leather of her bag stares up at her from it's place in front of the door but she ignores it. She doesn't want to think about what almost happened between them tonight. Freddie's arm is around her and they're heading toward the bedroom when she remembers something he called her earlier and looks up at him, a playful malice gleaming in her eyes; "Oh and Freddie?"

"Yes, Princess Puckett?"

"Don't _ever _call me Samantha again."


End file.
